


Morning Eloquence

by Missy



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: F/M, Humor, Married Couple, Porn Battle, Pregnant Sex, Romance, Squirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-01
Updated: 2011-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:23:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you marry somebody, you often find yourself also coupled to their good and bad sides.  Sam's just starting to become aware of the five different Fis that dwell in her skin.  And Fi's just as aware of the many Sams who make love to her every day...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Eloquence

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XI, Prompt: Burn Notice, Fiona/Sam, equals, leather, banter, favors

“Hey, Fi, can you help me with this?”

Fi opens one green eye and glances at Sam. He’s wearing a leather jacket, a blue shirt and jeans – this constitutes dressing up for him, so her interest is immediately piqued. He’s also perched on their couch, holding up two identical pairs of socks – identical except for the colors, that is. “The red or the green?”

She fluffs her hair out of her face and groans. “How does sockless sound?”

He smirks, “great, but I don’t think Carlitos would approve.”

“Sod Carlitos,” Fi replies, rolling onto her back. “You really want to get up and go to breakfast?”

“Do you want to stay in?” Sam’s got the shirt on, but it hangs open, revealing the softness of his chest.

“I’d rather eat in,” she smiles, her pert little expression making Sam turn around, wearing a look of surprised delight.

He immediately takes off the socks and starts working on his pants. “I see Horny Fi’s showed up for work this morning,” Sam declares, working open his fly.

“Horny Fi? Honestly, Sam…”

“Ever since you’ve been pregnant,” he says, shimmying down his jeans, “I’ve noticed that at least five different women live in that beautiful skull of yours.”

“Really?” She props herself up on an elbow, her palm pressed lightly to the side of her face.

“Yep,” he pulls down his boxers, adding them to the pile of clothing on the floor. As he finishes stripping, he continues, “there’s psycho Fi…she’s a pistol, don’t take the last cracker ‘cause she shoots first. There’s romantic Fi who keeps a piece of the Blarney stone in her purse for good luck. There’s serious Fi who doesn’t take crap and knows how to get the job done. There’s the Fi who would kill in the name of an innocent kid. And there’s cynical Fi who thinks it’s a waste of time doing something for the greater good when doing good for the little guy works just as well.”

Sam is down to his leather jacket and shirt, and she reaches out when he tries to remove it. “Leave the on. I like that jacket. “

“Have to if you want the shirt off.” She glares at him when he does so, stripping off his shirt before putting the jacket back on. Stiil, Fi holds out her arms and he rolls onto the bed, careful not to crush her burgeoning stomach between them. He snuggles up and reach over for a kiss, which he presses to her cheek. “You know,” she says against his chin, “there’s at least twelve Sams I have to live with.”

“Yeah?” he buries his face in her neck.

“Mmm hmm. Tipsy Sam, Horny Sam, Honest Sam…”

His hand disappears up the hem of the oversized teeshirt she’d worn to bed. “Hey, I’m never tipsy.” He caressed her inner thigh with deliberate tenderness, and her knee slowly part.

“Mmm hmm. There’s a tipping point. If you have too much, you get fanciful. “ His hand has come to rest lightly against the mound of her belly and she rolls her hips, trying to get him to return his hand to the spot between her legs.

“Fanciful? Hell, red, no one’s called me that before.” He cups the underside of her swollen breast and rolls it carefully between his fingers.

“Pinch them,” she requests.

“I won’t risk hurting you.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m nearly impossible to hurt.” She reaches for the hem of her shirt and yanks it over her head, throwing it toward the foot of the bed. “Go on now, touch me the way I need you to,” she demands.

“After you have this kid,” Sam tells her, sliding his fingers knowingly over her nipples while nibbling her neck, “I’m gonna take you over my knee and tan your pretty ass.”

“You’ll have to catch me first, Sammy,” she says spiritedly. “And we both know I can outrun you.”

“I don’t need to run. Not when I can make you do this,” he says, pinching both nipples. Fi’s hips arch violently upward, her bare sex brushing his hairy stomach. He bends his head and immediately soothes the worried flesh with his tongue. His kisses trail across her skin, making a soft track around her pink nipples before sucking each into his mouth in turn. Fi makes a soft groaning sound that could be mistaken as a request for mercy. Sam refuses to let up – he kneads each tip between thumb and forefinger while nibbling her neck. He knows she loves that – she makes a soft keening sound and licks his bare neck.

Sam rears upward, trying to surprise her with a kiss, but she dodges his quick move with a thrash of her head. He gets a mouthful of red hair and laughs. “Never mind. I was gonna taste your fur sooner or later.”

She laughs at his coarse joke. “You have a terribly filthy mind, Sam.”

“Yep. And you like it.”

“Oh yes,” she pulls him close by the lapels of his leather jacket and lurches upward, sucking on the side of his neck. Sam pulls away, writhing.

“I didn’t know you were into leather.”

“I love the way you smell, the leather just enhances it,” she informs him.

Sam can’t wipe the smirk from his face. “Do you like the way I taste?”

She blows a lock of red hair from her eyes. “So subtle.”

He rolls onto his back. “Darlin, you married the wrong guy if you were looking for subtle!” Her hand rests upon his chest, and he takes it, kisses the palm, and slides it slowly down his chest and stomach.

She snatches her hand away. “Not so hasty,” she requests.

“Aww, c’mon,” he groans. Then, his eyes brightening, “I’ll rub your back.”  
She smiles, takes his hand and slides it from her swollen breasts over her even-more-swollen belly to the small rise of her sex. “I’d rather you rub something lower.”

“That’s my girl,” he smirks into her neck.

Somehow, he manages to affect the right angle, his left hand between her legs, the right holding her close. To do this and give her room to rub his cock, he has to lie with her weight on his right arm. Sam thinks to himself that this used to be easier when he was sixteen and crammed in the back seat of his father’s Chevy, and Fi doesn’t think at all.

“Want my mouth?” he asks.

She rolls over onto her back, yanking him into the right position by his ears. “Hi, Horny Fi,” he snickers again, before he silences himself on her kiss, the curve of her breast, the rise of her stomach.

When he reaches her sex, he attacks the needy softness of her with gusto, licking the entire length of her sex with the flat of his tongue before concentrating on her swollen clit.

“Fuck me,” she demands, her lips parted, her eyes unfocused, “two fingers. More!”

“You’re cute when you’re in drill sergeant mode,” Sam says, resting his chin on the bed and slipping the fingers in slowly.

“DID I SAY STOP?”

He gives her a mock-salute. “no, ma’am!”

Fi lounges back “Make me come, Lieutenant.”

“Lieutenant Commander,” Sam corrects her, and when she tries to box his ears he ducks down and buries his face between her legs.

Fi is a sweaty, glorious mess and he grins against her trimmed curls. “DO IT, Sam!”

And he does it until her legs shake and she screams, until he replaces his fingers with his tongue and wiggles it inside of her, then pinches her clit between his thumb and index finger. Again, and again, using three fingers within her and his entire mouth on her clit until at last she cries something incoherent in Gaelic and a small stream of clear liquid pour over his hand, making Sam pull his head away in surprise.

He’s never made a woman squirt before - though, thanks to the endless number of movies consumed and tall tales exchanged, he knows enough about the act to understand what’s happened. Sam’s pride and cock swell up in equally measured tribute to her passion; damn, she makes him feel like man. When he rests his head on her belly and realizes Fi isn’t the only one experiencing shockwaves. “Sorry kid.” He places his hand on her belly, feels the hard thrumming of their unborn child’s kick, and runs a comforting hand across the rippling surface of Fi’s abdomen. The kicking slows gradually, concluding on an emphatic, sudden turn of the body against his hand, as if snubbing his touch.

“Geez, he’s already like you.” Sam hazards a look at Fi and sees her lying on her back, tears streaming down her face. “Fi?” he worries.

Just as he bends over to check her, the world goes topsy-turvy, and he finds himself straddled by one hundred and eighty five pounds of Irish passion. He doesn’t have room for words or reactions, only to feel, to allow himself to be bitten and licked upon every inch of his body by a desire-crazed Fiona. When she gets to his cock, he’s all but bucking to be sucked off – and it only takes her two minutes of highly-skilled, wet, tongue-flicking, suction-heavy head to send him right over the brink.

“JESUS, FI,” he blurts out, twisting with the volatility of it. Sam becomes a cliché; he erupts, he boils over, he shoots and shoots into the accepting, lusting heat of his woman. Then, the world bunt clean and new, he breathes. “Jesus, baby. Jesus.”

She licks his spent cock one last time before crawling up the bed to rest against his chest. Sam rests his hand against her belly and feels the idle kick of their child.

She blows a lock of hair out of her eyes and they lock gazes.

“French toast?” Sam asks.

“French toast,” Fi agrees.

“Hungry Sam approves,” he grins, and gets out of bed.


End file.
